


Featherless Pillows

by Webtrinsic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit only cause the injuries, First Kiss, Graphic Description, Holy Water, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I've never watched the show so, Love Confessions, M/M, Nicknames, Probably ooc, Serious Injuries, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Suicidal Thoughts, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22354363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: While kidnapped Crowley's wings are put through the ringer, leaving his angel to pick up the pieces and mend his broken feathers and maybe confess his love along the way.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	Featherless Pillows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaslutforsomewhump (Imaslutforsomewhump)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaslutforsomewhump/gifts).



> This is for Hannah, one of my dearest friends in all of humanity. I love you so much and I worked so hard on getting this pic right, I know it took much longer than it should have but I love you all the more for waiting. I hope reading this brings you the upmost joy always, you are one of my best friends and I'm so grateful to have you in my life and I cannot wait someday to meet you in person so we can scream about tv shows and our passions. Again I love you so much and I hope this fic has all the comfort you were looking for.
> 
> (Also I've never watched the show, so if this is ooc I'm so sorry.)

It’d be laughable to think he hadn’t experienced pain in his many, many, years of existence. He’d been reborn infused with pain, a phoenix burning in its very own flames, his being was pain, his purpose: _ Pain. _

There was pain in his temptation, pain in his fall, pain in the knowledge he seeked that continued and might always be just out of reach. 

He wasn’t alive, not in the same way humans are. But Crowley could only begin to explain his existence with one simple sentiment. 

_ Life is pain and if you aren’t experiencing any, you aren’t living at all. _

Pain to demons was something unspoken, it seeped within them and on earth it made their joints ache and stomach curl. This planet wasn’t ‘made’ for them, so of course, on its surface it’d do what it could to torure them, remind them evil wouldn’t prevail, not in the eyes of the lord. 

He and the other demons had long since adjusted to the worlds built in zapper. He almost didn’t even register it anymore, six thousand years built up a tolerance, and his threshold for pain had always been rather high, even stronger than most angels when his wings were white as well.

The zapper so to speak had also weakened in the wake of new religion and lack of faith, he didn’t exactly thank humans for that fact, more so he saw it as an upside to their creation.

As the world's clock continued to turn, pain, at least for himself had become much harder to come by. Churches, not surprisingly, seemed to be one of the only things to bring him any nowadays.

He’d put on a show of annoyance when he’d entered ,  it not going unnoticed, especially by his angel, but he’d refused to let on the severity of the lightning searing his skin and digging into his celestial body even if he looked like a fool dancing on his feet.

It was nothing compared to now. 

He’d fallen from grace, burned his being, singed his wings and forever stained them in the ash of his rebellion, and it still felt so tame compared to the utter agony he was in now. His fall from grace had been right, out of boredom, yet a choice that’d been so utterly right it’d brought him as close to...content as he’d ever been.

The excruciating pressure of that moment had pushed him to freedom. What he’d just endured _ took his freedom away _ . He was suffering, the irony of it mocking him, and he wanted it to end. 

_ Life is pain and if you aren’t experiencing any, you aren’t living at all. _

The oh so terrible trait he despised for being so utterly human flared in his mind, _ find our angel, don’t succumb to the temptation. _

The temptress in question?  _ Holy Water _ . 

It would end his pain, end an existence without wings. 

Aziraphale would be absolutely beside himself if he found out he’d even managed to procure the tepid water of god. Crowley snuffed down the thought of leaving his angel with a hiss, knowing he couldn’t give into his own temptation, at least until he’d seen Aziraphale one last time.

Before he could see him, he’d have to get there first. His clothes were torn and sticking to his skin wetly, the dark colors deep with blood, staining his skin. Sure to ruin the interior of his Bentley, if he could even drive. No, no he wouldn’t put his precious Bentley through that. Nor did he want to listen to his angel lecture him about endangering the lives of mortals, he didn’t want their potential last words to be in anger.

So, he’d have to walk.

* * *

The rapping at the door is what startled Aziraphale from his book, the knocks persistent enough to nearly send him from his chair. Rising to his feet, Aziraphale hurried over to the door only for it to burst open, the handle bent and a familiar body tumbled to the floor. 

“Oh my!” The angel called, dropping to his knees and shuttering deeply as blood coated his hands the second he started to turn his demon over. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale shuddered, breath hitching terribly at the sight of his friend. Well...if Aziraphale was being honest with himself, it sometimes felt as if they were something more than friends but now wasn’t the time to dwell on that fact.

He didn’t tempt himself by initiating anything further, it wasn’t quite his job to tempt others, that was Crowley’s. Plenty a times Aziraphale almost believed, hoped really, that Crowley would take the next step. Bind them in a concoction of heaven and hell, classes forced apart but sinfully right together.

“What ever happened to you?” Crowley’s glasses were gone, making his vision unshaded, giving Crowley a glimpse of his angels face, mainly his now watery eyes. 

“Don’t cry for me angel, T’is just a flesh wound,” Crowley joked rather deliriously, hissing between his words, burning amphibious eyes raging in agony.

“A flesh wound?” Aziraphale took in the damage with wide eyes, adam’s apple burning, saying these injuries were menial was quixotic. Judging by the amount of blood now coating his suit, Crowley likely, well...almost definitely needed to be sent back to Head Office. 

Except...with their lack of aptitude for their work, Aziraphale just knew they’d turn the poor demon away. A sharp elongated hiss broke through the air as the demon’s back pressed against the cool floor, soothing the marred skin and bones.

Inhaling, Aziraphale held his breath, hands making their way to the demons shoulders in a small act of comfort, not only for himself but Crowley as well. 

“Your glasses,” he couldn’t help but utter as he looked down at the demons angular face. Crowley didn’t give a reaction to the observation, preoccupied with pushing the pain he felt down into his gut for the sake of his angel as he bared his teeth, seething.

His sides flared in an endless wave of lightning, the texture of his suit amplified against flayed, bare flesh. Each brush of cotton on his exposed epidermis and fat sent his eyes rolling back into his head.

Aziraphale’s hands tentatively ran through Crowley’s fiery hair, actions slow as he began to peel away the thick and heavy layers of mixed fabric being both leather, silk, and cotton.

“Oh goodness,” Aziraphele could feel a puddle growing around his knees, staining his trousers a deep crimson. The blood pooled below them letting the angel know where the main source of it was coming from, his back.

The demon was laying on his injuries, likely sullying them on the floor. 

“Dearest, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you over,” Crowley barely heard the request, his angels voice having gone incredibly soft, a spring flower closing into a bud. Before turning the demon over, Aziraphale managed to lift the torn pieces of cloth away from his sides with a sickening flop of moist fabric.

It was all red, red and pink morsels of skin and muscle, fat and tissue running along his sides, exposing the barest hint of rib through sliced flesh. The angel held back a gasp, feeling lightheaded, and yet there was still more to uncover.

“Get it over with angel,” The demon bemoaned, having been wincing and hissing at each pull of his flesh. 

“Alright then, this will hurt my dear, I must apologize in advance,”

“Oh hurry it up then,” the demon growled, jaw extending and throat stretching as he shifted his head, rolling his shoulders in an effort to help the angels shaking hands now bracing both his chest and spine, very intentionally shifting so the demons head and shoulders were pillowed on his soft cushiony thighs-as Crowley would describe.

With the little strength he had, Crowley acted on his only real thought, urge more or less, and wrapped his arms around his angel. Low on his back, his fingers white as they dug into the tartan clad being, nearly blending in.

With his back no longer pressed to the floor Aziraphale managed to tear the final pieces of clothing away, leaving the demons torso bare, his wounds open to the air. Aziraphale didn’t hold back his gasp this time, tears slipping from his eyes at the severe injuries meeting.

“Good heavens,” Aziraphale cried, not knowing where to put his hands as he stared at the broken gnarled bones protruding from his friends back. Crowley’s wings were no more.

The skin around the broken bone was inflamed and red, puss and blood leaking as the bone had continued to scrape over and over the surrounding area. Two patches of skin were torn off starting from the scrape and down his sides, the slices having left his ribs partially exposed and tissue defenseless to the world around it.

Trying desperately not to gag, Aziraphale steadied his shoulders, fixing his posture before running a hand through Crowley’s thick hair. He needed to take charge, make things right because they certainly wouldn’t on their own.

Crowley came to him for help, his friend needed him. Crowley needed him.

A list started to form in his head, the steps clear in his mind. Step one: Clean up the blood, puss and dirt from his flayed skin. Step Two: Cauterize the wound. Step three: Wrap gauze around his sides. Step four, personally his least favorite step: Cut back the tissue and fat around the protruding bone. Step five: Perform a miracle to get Crowley’s wings back.

It seemed so simple as steps, he’d worry about stitches but he would heal without them, healing factors were a very helpful thing but Crowley’s wouldn’t kick in if Aziraphale didn’t help it along first. 

“Dear me,” Aziraphale cursed under his breath, the first aid kit was a little ways away and he didn’t think Crowley would appreciate moving from his spot on his lap. The demons hold on his lower back remained, probably indenting his skin through his clothes but Aziraphale didn’t mind.

“We’re going to have to move to treat these,” The angel informed feebly, shivering as the demon growled against his thigh. Crowley didn’t make any attempt to move until suddenly in a burst of energy Aziraphale was left gaping and scrambling to his feet as the red head lifted himself from the ground with a surprising amount of energy before sauntering over to the first aid kit, completely ignoring the rivets of liquid spewing down his back before he found the nearest sofa and collapsed onto it.

“Oh,” the angel let out a little breathlessly, approaching quickly, determining the best way to go about his treatment would be resuming the same position they’d been in before. The demon let out a low hiss but melted back against his thighs rather graciously.

The demons thumb ran over the angels achilles as the angel shifted through the first aid kit, pulling out a pack of antiseptic wipes. Azirpahle started to clean the skin that was stained rather than the open wounds first, before moving to the torn fat and tissue on his sides. Apologizing under his breath at the sharp inhales of breath splaying along his trousers.

The blood that’d stained them surely were ruining his sofa as well, it’d be hell to clean out so he resigned himself to the prospect of buying himself a new suit and couch.

“I’m sorry dearest,” Aziraphale said a little louder, now running a new pad of antiseptic tissue over the fractured protruding bone and swollen skin, it only making the blood and puss fall freely again.

Aziraphale’s list would need to be changed, step four would have to come before step two. 

“Do you need a break? I fear what I’m about to do next will hurt,”

“Keep going angel,” The demon hissed, quaking as Aziraphale procured a scalpel from his kit.

“I’m starting now,” Aziraphale announced, not wanting to surprise the demon with a knife. It stood steady in between his fingers as he slowly punctured the skin, digging in deep and pulling outward in a steady circle around the protruding bone until the puss filled inflamed skin was no longer attached and fell off the sofa and onto the floor.

Crowley seemed to be gaping and gulping like a fish out of water, hissing through his teeth loudly enough the shake his chest and spurr more blood from his sides. The sound of hissing oddly terrifying because not only did it come from his lips but between the spaces of his freed ribs.

“That’s all done now, no more scalpel darling, I promise,” Aziraphale assured, eyes straining from behind his own reading glasses. Satisfied the useless skin was out of his path, the angel wiped at the blood knowing it’d need to be stopped in a less than pleasant process. Step number two.

A candle flickered on the nearest table, Aziraphale leaning over to grasp the silver candelabra, his stomach cushioning the demon’s head making the man sigh. The candelabra had two silver arms protruding from its sides, detachable for cleaning purposes. Untwisting one of the arms, Aziraphale carefully cleaned the rounded metal until it was spotless before holding it above the dancing flame.

It took some time for the silver to begin to glow red with its heat, giving Crowley enough time to recuperate from the incisions before Aziraphale did something he knew to be out of character.

He pressed the hot metal down over the bleeding skin in a quick burst before pulling it away. Crowley had barely any time to scream, it getting stuck in his throat, fingers clawing into the angels legs before Aziraphale did it again.

He had to continue to do it in short bursts to stem the bleeding without burning the skin too badly. The process repeated itself several times until the pink skin refused to produce any more blood and Azirapahle quickly stuck a cold compress to the area, the minute he did the body below sagged heavily.

The demon falling unconscious seemed to be a small mercy, Aziraphale didn’t bother with trying to wake him. The hardest part was over, his demon could rest now. Crowley slept through the salve being applied to his skin, nor did he wake when the gauze wrapped around his torso and shoulders, looking very much like a tank top.

Aziraphale decided it’d be best to wait to perform a miracle, the demon had been through enough for the day and Azirahpale couldn’t stand to be in his blood stained clothes any longer. He didn’t think Crowley wanted to wake in tight blood logged pants either.

He’d also have to get the demon off the couch.

Oh dear.

* * *

Crowley remained silent as a hand shifted through his hair, his back again facing the sky, back tingling as the blade of metal from Aziraphale scissors brushed the healing skin, tearing away the gauze from the bones that’d once held his precious wings.

The demon would rather miracle his wings back himself, knowing the act of miracles often tired them out for a few days and didn’t want to burden his angel even more than he already had. If he wasn’t so exhausted he’d have done it right away, yet Aziraphale had tutted his pretty lips and Crowley was helpless not to obey.

The breath of relief that hit the air the moment air hit Crowley’s revealed skin was a relief. 

“You’ll be in tip top shape in no time my love,” Aziraphale chirped rather happily, completely oblivious to the love confession he’d just let out as he ran his hands over the demons sinewy sides, the skin pink but ribs hidden safely behind them as they should be.

The demon for the first time in days found himself grinning, eyes closing as the angel brought upon a miracle. The demons face quickly contorted into a grimace, burying himself in the bedding below him.

Miracles could only go so far, meaning when Aziraphale asked for his wings back, a new pair wasn’t gifted upon him. His same old pair returned, the bone fusing back into one, his feathers still in utter disarray, blood pooling, now staining his angels bed as well. He’d really have to reimburse the poor angel for that.

Crowley expected the angel to comment, to say anything, even if it was only a soft ‘oh dear me’ anything at all, the angel before him didn’t say anything. His eyes were narrowed in the slightest, his posture ramrod straight, eyes incredibly dry.

The angel seemed to resign himself to rising from his spot on the bed and back to the library for the first aid kit. The demon waited a long while, not daring to move because his angel seemed angry.

It wasn’t an emotion he wished on the being, not in the slightest, so he waited and waited and waited until the angel returned with far more than a first aid kit.

“Could you spread them out? All the way please,” Crowley didn’t like the listlessness in his angels tone, complying to the request even if it hurt. The angels fingers tickled as they ran over the line between his shoulder blades in an act of comfort, helping ease the pain slightly while reassuring Crowley his angel wasn’t angry with him or the predicament, he was likely angry he was injured at all and at whatever had brought these injuries to begin with.

Now that Aziraphale could see the full expanse of his wings, his skinned sides made a lot more sense. The line of skin is where his axillaries connected to his body when not in its astral form, they’d been torn clean off taking the skin with it.

His secondaries were scorched as if someone had taken a lighter to each individual feather, engulfing it in flames until it charred. The under wing coverts were broken in half, feathers still producing the most amount of blood possible, trickling down what dark feathers were left. The primary wings had been plucked, little did he know that a wire had been twined around each individual feather before it was torn back, taking all the feathers out in a quick yet excruciatingly painful swoop.

Last but not least was the mended bone that his wings protruded from his back, it was twisted, as if someone had used a torque wrench to twist it clean off. 

Crowley didn’t even realize his wings were itching until his angel pulled out some powder to bring him some relief. The white powder speckled over the black expanse of wings and tan fleshy like skin where his feathers protruded from.

“I found the holy water in your pocket,” the angel admitted sadly, starting on the burnt feathers. The angel took the mixing bowl of saline into his hand, using the bowl’s spout to run the solution over the burnt areas and feathers before taking several strips of gauze and dropping them into the leftover solution to soak.

Crowley found himself moaning at the attention, sighing blissfully as the once ultra heated skin and feathers cooled rapidly, seeping deep into the nerves and halting the aching feeling of fire. His brain although pleased at his treatment couldn’t help but whirr at his holy water being found.

“Now now angel I wasn’t going to use it,”

“You’re really an atrocious liar,”

“Says you angel,” 

Aziraphale didn’t bother with a response, seemingly dropping the whole conversation completely, “I’ll have to break the bone back into its rightful place,”

Crowley would protest but knew he wouldn’t be able to fly without the adjustment, he’d gone through so much pain these past few days, what was a little more?

_ Life is pain and if you aren’t experiencing any, you aren’t living at all. _

The demon nodded, wondering if his angels hands had always felt so cold as they wrapped around the left protruding bone before halting. Aziraphale took a deep breath, Crowley picking up on the cue to due the same immediately, before his hands turned quickly in the opposite direction of the way they’d been turned previously.

“Fuck!” The demon snarled, grinding his teeth so tightly one might be nervous they’d break under the pressure.

“I’m sorry friend,” Aziraphale apologized, moving over to break the right. Crowley hadn’t even known his angel was capable of such strength. Six thousand years and there was still so much to learn about him. He loved it.

The shock of the first break lessened the pain of the second. Aziraphale still apologized with a soft brush of his fingers over his nape. The next item the angel pulled from his kit was a pair of tweezers and pliers.

Some of the broken covets needed to be pulled, he did so slowly, carefully enough that it didn’t even hurt. Wiping the bloodied feathers off and getting rid of the broken feathers, Aziraphale wiped the remaining blood away with precision before cleaning the tools and putting them away.

“I always had a feeling you were a stickler for how your feathers looked,” Crowley murmured, figuring that’s the reason Aziraphale was so prepared. 

“Wing care is important,” Aziraphale stated as if it was obvious, which it likely was. Crowley’s always looked so rugged and nice after his fall, it was probably the ash.

“I’m going to wrap them now, you won’t be able to put your wings away for quite some time,” Removing the soaked saline gauzes, Aziraphale wrapped them tightly.

“You’re not getting your holy water back,” The angel then announced, exiting the room with his supplies. 

“Figures,” Crowley muttered. Getting to his feet, following his angel back to the library before realizing he couldn’t go about with his wings out and retreated back to Aziraphale’s room.

“You sore with me angel?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask when the angel returned.

“I’m sore you’re hurt, I’m sore you had a bottle of holy water,” The angel harumped, straightening his bowtie angrily and pacing the room.

“Were you going to end it? Do you know what’d I do without you? Didn’t you even think about what’d I go through if you’d killed yourself? I’m in love with you and you didn’t even think-”

“Angel, angel!” Crowley called yet the angel continued to hyperventilate and rant. Crowley acted on impulse then, grabbing the angels hip and pulling him close, smashing their lips together.

“I love you too, and I promise you Angel the holy water wasn’t for me, at least not originally. I can’t lie and say it didn’t tempt me from time to time, but I wouldn’t leave you, couldn’t,” 

“I’m still quite mad at you,” Aziraphale pouted, his hands resting against the demons bare chest.

“I deserve it angel,” Crowley admitted, his free hand moving to cover one of Aziraphales own.

“You don’t deserve to be in so much pain you think about killing yourself,” Aziraphale frowned. 

“Pains much more bearable with you around angel,” Crowley crooned, not hesitating to pull his angel back into a kiss. The earths built in zapper still stung his legs and his wings were aching, yet he was the happiest he’d ever been.

_ Life is pain and if you aren’t experiencing any, you aren’t living at all. _

**Author's Note:**

> Again never watched the show so don't yell at me
> 
> Snap Chat: allisonw1122
> 
> instagram: webtrinsic 
> 
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122


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